Hey All,
Well, it's not often that I get to say anything about myself is "normal," but I just wanted to pass along a happy update that my marrow "looked normal" according to my Doc. last week.
We've now started maintenance, and I'm still crazy-tired from recovering from the last round. I'm rather beat down, and getting a little impatient to feel better, but I just keep reminding myself that it's been a long, long road, and I should expect recovering to take some time as well.
Almost all of my energy is going into getting back to work (I apologize for not updating more promptly), but I promise to have some longer and more reflective posts once I get a bit of energy back.
Thank you all so much for your support and for the time being I'm going to continue sleeping, getting back to work, and enjoying being cancer free!
I hope this night finds you all well.
sam
Monday, January 25, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
Hospital Stay #3: "We're going to need a doctor and a priest" edition
Sometimes life is all too predictable. I wrote in my last post that I had just finished my last shot of Cytarabine, one of the drugs responsible for putting me in the hospital. Last week, I began feeling really off and woke up one day with a low grade fever and absolutely no design on getting out of bed.
I asked Mum to email my study coordinator to see if I could get into the see the doctor the following day, and within ten minutes one of his head nurses called and said "you need to come in right away, you have 0 neutrophils."
We headed right in, and it's a good thing, as by the time we got in there I was grasping to maintain conciousness. I knew it wasn't just in my head when one of the nurses saw me staggering, grabbed me by the armpit to brace me and walked me straight back through the "employees only" hall to get me to the closest bed in the chemo room. Turns out the fever had dehydrated me something fierce so I had crazy-low blood pressure.
They got some fluids in me, took 60 ml of blood to check for infection (that's a lot), took a chest x-ray complete with adhesive nipple markers applied by the technician (always fun), and then admitted me to the hospital.
I was put in room B6/660, and immediately thought "it can't be good to be in a room that has the mark of satan." When the nurse case manager asked if I'd like to see a chaplain or religious leader, I said no, but chuckled as I thought I should say "I'm going to need a doctor and a priest."
I apologize to all of you who haven't seen "The Exorcist" and are completely lost.
To make a long story short, I spent a few nights in the hospital, but the blood cultures, chest x-ray, chest CT Scan, and Sinus CT scan all came back clear, so at my request they sent me home early enough to watch the Packer game at home.
I'm now recovering at home and sleeping about 18 hours a day, but my marrow seems to be recovering quite well given it was doing next to nothing for about 3 weeks.
Thursday I'm scheduled for what I hope to be my last bone marrow. If that comes back clean, we'll move onto maintanence and I should actually get my life back. If it doesn't, well, instead of reaching the summit this climb will get a hell of a lot steeper.
It's strange and a bit unnerving having so much ride on a single test -- good vibes would be very, very much appreciated.
All right, usually I try to keep some semblance of order in my posts, but this isn't expository writing class, and this past year and change has been crazy, so I'm going to spew some random thoughts...
As we come toward what I hope to be the end of rough treatment, even after a full year, I'm still left in disbelief over the events of the last year. I've been through something that very few people can comprehend, and I wouldn't want them to be able to. It sounds funny, but even I have troubles comprehending or believing what I've gone through in the last year. I figure that if I'm able to make it through the door and back to the other side, I'll be able to use the phrase "I've been through hell and back" with a great deal more authenticity then most.
If I'm completely honest, I haven't really allowed myself to deal emotionally with the reality of everything that has happened. If this test comes back clean, I'm a little concerned that the floodgates will open. There are so many people who have helped me out so much without even realizing it, people that I just want to bear hug, but I probably won't because I know that I'll start crying like a 12 year old girl, and uncontrollable blubbering and rubbing one's snotty face all over someone's shoulder is neither a good way to thank them, nor a good public look.
Finally, I'm a bit conflicted because I feel like going through cancer treatment should be a life changing event, and I feel as though all I want is to return to my life as it was before cancer.
You see all of the life lessons that cancer brings with it -- never take time, friends and family, or health for granted; most things just aren't worth getting upset over; life isn't fair, get over it; and others -- are all lessons I learned when my Mum went through cancer treatment.
As a result, for as long as I can remember, I've lived my life with these understandings. My friends all know that my love of life, adventure and tomfoolery, are all nearly unmatched. I've always tried to squeeze every bit of life out of every day -- a habit that has lead to inebriated and euphoric late night skinny dipping in summer thunderstorms and late night discussions with friends of such length that I've rolled home on my bike as the light of dawn appears on the horizon. I've always loved and laughed freely, and always accepted people for who they are -- In my opinion the true key to happiness.
The more I think -- the more I write -- the more I realize that instead of being concerned that cancer hasn't greatly altered my perspective on life, that I should be grateful that I've lived such a fun, fulfilling, and exciting life, that I just want to get it back.
I can be accused of a lot of things, but no one can accuse me of failing to squeeze every last drip out of life.
All right, enough random thoughts for one night. Thanks for being a portal to bounce my thoughts off of.
I hope this night finds you all enjoying life.
Sam
I asked Mum to email my study coordinator to see if I could get into the see the doctor the following day, and within ten minutes one of his head nurses called and said "you need to come in right away, you have 0 neutrophils."
We headed right in, and it's a good thing, as by the time we got in there I was grasping to maintain conciousness. I knew it wasn't just in my head when one of the nurses saw me staggering, grabbed me by the armpit to brace me and walked me straight back through the "employees only" hall to get me to the closest bed in the chemo room. Turns out the fever had dehydrated me something fierce so I had crazy-low blood pressure.
They got some fluids in me, took 60 ml of blood to check for infection (that's a lot), took a chest x-ray complete with adhesive nipple markers applied by the technician (always fun), and then admitted me to the hospital.
I was put in room B6/660, and immediately thought "it can't be good to be in a room that has the mark of satan." When the nurse case manager asked if I'd like to see a chaplain or religious leader, I said no, but chuckled as I thought I should say "I'm going to need a doctor and a priest."
I apologize to all of you who haven't seen "The Exorcist" and are completely lost.
To make a long story short, I spent a few nights in the hospital, but the blood cultures, chest x-ray, chest CT Scan, and Sinus CT scan all came back clear, so at my request they sent me home early enough to watch the Packer game at home.
I'm now recovering at home and sleeping about 18 hours a day, but my marrow seems to be recovering quite well given it was doing next to nothing for about 3 weeks.
Thursday I'm scheduled for what I hope to be my last bone marrow. If that comes back clean, we'll move onto maintanence and I should actually get my life back. If it doesn't, well, instead of reaching the summit this climb will get a hell of a lot steeper.
It's strange and a bit unnerving having so much ride on a single test -- good vibes would be very, very much appreciated.
All right, usually I try to keep some semblance of order in my posts, but this isn't expository writing class, and this past year and change has been crazy, so I'm going to spew some random thoughts...
As we come toward what I hope to be the end of rough treatment, even after a full year, I'm still left in disbelief over the events of the last year. I've been through something that very few people can comprehend, and I wouldn't want them to be able to. It sounds funny, but even I have troubles comprehending or believing what I've gone through in the last year. I figure that if I'm able to make it through the door and back to the other side, I'll be able to use the phrase "I've been through hell and back" with a great deal more authenticity then most.
If I'm completely honest, I haven't really allowed myself to deal emotionally with the reality of everything that has happened. If this test comes back clean, I'm a little concerned that the floodgates will open. There are so many people who have helped me out so much without even realizing it, people that I just want to bear hug, but I probably won't because I know that I'll start crying like a 12 year old girl, and uncontrollable blubbering and rubbing one's snotty face all over someone's shoulder is neither a good way to thank them, nor a good public look.
Finally, I'm a bit conflicted because I feel like going through cancer treatment should be a life changing event, and I feel as though all I want is to return to my life as it was before cancer.
You see all of the life lessons that cancer brings with it -- never take time, friends and family, or health for granted; most things just aren't worth getting upset over; life isn't fair, get over it; and others -- are all lessons I learned when my Mum went through cancer treatment.
As a result, for as long as I can remember, I've lived my life with these understandings. My friends all know that my love of life, adventure and tomfoolery, are all nearly unmatched. I've always tried to squeeze every bit of life out of every day -- a habit that has lead to inebriated and euphoric late night skinny dipping in summer thunderstorms and late night discussions with friends of such length that I've rolled home on my bike as the light of dawn appears on the horizon. I've always loved and laughed freely, and always accepted people for who they are -- In my opinion the true key to happiness.
The more I think -- the more I write -- the more I realize that instead of being concerned that cancer hasn't greatly altered my perspective on life, that I should be grateful that I've lived such a fun, fulfilling, and exciting life, that I just want to get it back.
I can be accused of a lot of things, but no one can accuse me of failing to squeeze every last drip out of life.
All right, enough random thoughts for one night. Thanks for being a portal to bounce my thoughts off of.
I hope this night finds you all enjoying life.
Sam
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